


Some Will, Some Won't (1880)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [25]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Some Will Some Won't (1970), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, M/M, Surprise Ending, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Wills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 08:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10567893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Case 18: Lady Henrietta Hammerford dies and her late husband's will is read – but only those who can meet the conditions demanded will get what is coming to them. Sherlock 'helps' out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



> Mentioned elsewhere as 'the case of Sir George Lewis, and the Hammerford Will'.

Generally speaking, the people who called on Holmes for help were the sort of people that deserved to be helped. Of course, there were some who did so in the absolute and certain knowledge that, because of how important they were, he would simply _have_ to assist them in whatever way they wanted (the technical word for such people was 'mistaken'). And sometimes, people called on my friend to ask him to help others, so in this case he did just that – and then some!

Every family in England has some history, and that of the Hammerfords was more convoluted that most. Haling from the village of that name in Northumberland not that far from my own Belford, they made little impact on history until Dame Fortune smiled on them, and one of them chanced to be in the party that escorted the ill-starred Elizabeth, King James the First's daughter, to marry the 'Winter King' Frederick of Bohemia in 1613. Fortuitously, Nehemiah Hammerford avoided the subsequent disaster that befell that luckless couple, and even more fortuitously, made his way to the court of Elizabeth's daughter Sophia, who had married Ernest, Elector of Hanover. As every schoolboy knows, she became heiress presumptive to the English throne upon the death of William Duke of Gloucester in 1700, only to die some six weeks before her cousin Anne in 1714, and leave the throne to her useless lump of a son, George the First.

This may seem incidental, but it all leads into the event that in turn led to our involvement with the Hammerford family. By the middle of the century, Sir Julius Hammerford oversaw one of the richest families in England. And then, in an uncanny echo of the disaster to befall the great Marshall dynasty in the thirteenth century, it all fell apart. He had long wished to acquire the estate from which the family had taken its name, but unfortunately he was a little too abrasive in his dealings with the owner who, in a fit of annoyance and with no relatives of their own to worry about, left it all to the Bishop of Hexham. Sir Julius was not amused, and waged a long, bitter and ultimately fruitless campaign to get the land. In the end, the bishop said frankly to a local reporter that he wished for a pox on the whole Hammerford dynasty. Evidently the bishop's superior was in an obliging mood, because the Grim Reaper proceeded to cut a swathe through the once-copious family, such that when the old baronet died in 1868, there were apart from his wife but four members left. The whole estate was to be administered as a trust for said wife until her own death after which, everyone presumed, it would be shared out amongst those of the four who had outlived her. And the late baronet did indeed leave those four people the residue of his estate.

With one or two tiny catches....

+~+~+

Mr. Philip Lewis was not one of the four aforementioned people, having married the late Sir Julius' daughter, Jane. They had had only one son, George, who had just turned twenty-one; unfortunately his birth had been very difficult, and his late mother had been advised by her doctor not to try again. With the Grim Reaper cutting a swathe through the family all of a sudden, they had fatefully chosen to ignore that advice, and she had died in childbirth, her daughter stillborn. Her husband, who had received a small sum from his father-in-law, was one of the executors of the will and a trustee of his late mother-in-law's estate; the family solicitor was the other in both cases.

“It is all very odd”, Mr. Lewis said, “although Sir Julius was... well, let me be charitable and describe him as subject to fits of whimsy. He has left a most peculiar will, and the four beneficiaries – if indeed they are beneficiaries – are far from happy.”

“It sounds intriguing, sir”, Holmes said, “but I do not see where you require the services of either a consulting detective or a doctor.”

“I shall tell you the contents of the will, and you will see soon enough”, the man said. “The four beneficiaries I will describe shortly, but they all expected, perhaps not unreasonably, that after the usual small bequests to servants and whatnot, that they would share the reside of the estate upon the late Lady Hammerford's death. And Sir Julius did indeed leave them just that – except he also threw in some rather curious conditions. And furthermore, in order to remain beneficiaries they have to meet those conditions within a period of three months from the reading of the will, which happened yesterday.”

“One moment”, Holmes said. “The Hammerfords are well known for being amongst the richest members of our so-called high society. Precisely how much money are we talking here?”

I could see why he had asked the question. If any of the recipients failed to meet their conditions – whether through their own actions or those of a rival – then the other candidates could increase their holdings somewhat or, in a best-case scenario, scoop the whole pool. Our guest duly gave us a figure, and we both drew a sharp breath before he continued.

“So, the runners and riders”, he said. “I shall start with Mrs. Eleanor Crossley, Sir Julius' sister, commonly called Nell. She has never done a day's work in her life, and she was always complaining that her brother never gave her a large enough allowance. In order to qualify for her part of the estate, she has to acquire and maintain paid employment for a consecutive period of some twenty-eight days.”

I winced. I knew the sort of person who our guest was describing, and one might as well have asked them to build a rocket and go to collect some moon dust.

“Sir Julius had one other sibling”, our guest continued, “a brother called Augustus. The only thing surprising about him was that he did not drink himself to death at a younger age; how he lasted as long as he did, the Good Lord alone knew. He did not marry, but he had a son from an affair he had conducted where the lady died in childbirth, and he had accepted and raised the son, Arthur, as his own. The boy – he is now twenty-five, so I suppose that I should not call him that - has taken all this very badly, as he is the only remaining Hammerford, albeit an adopted one. Then again, he always was a sour-faced chap. He was always very vocal in his disapproval of my father-in-law's occasionally whimsical sense of humour, and Sir Julius found something really cruel for him. Arthur has to appear on the front page of the “Times” newspaper in some non-criminal capacity.”

“That does not sound so bad”, I said. Our guest smiled.

“It might not have been”, he said, “except that it has to be for the playing of a practical joke on some person on social standing - and without ending up in gaol as a result. That is a fine line.”

I felt that I was beginning to quite like Sir Julius Hammerford. Although I was glad not to have been on the receiving end of his 'whimsy'.

“Sir Julius had two children, my late wife and another daughter, Urania”, he said. “Unusual names seem to predominate in the family, for some reason. Urania died eight years before her father, a couple of years after marrying an American, a Mr. Danforth Rotherby. Sir Julius disliked him intensely, and did not hide his enjoyment when he followed his wife into the hereafter, having been shot for being in bed with another man's wife. On the day of his own wife's funeral, no less!”

I winced.

“They left one son, Daniel”, our guest continued. “I am hardly selling the family well, I know, but he is undoubtedly fond of the sound of his own voice, and always telling everyone what to do. Sir Julius was particularly inventive when it came to the grandson who was always telling him how to live his life better.”

I leant forward in anticipation.

“He has to join a Trappist order of monks”, Mr. Lewis grinned, “and remain silent for a period of twenty-eight days. His Father Abbot is to monitor him, and should he talk, his clock is immediately reset to zero. If he cannot stay silent, he gets nothing.”

Now I _really_ liked the late Sir Julius!

“And finally to my own dear son, George”, our visitor said with a sigh. “I have tried to raise him well, but I am afraid that he has grown into the most priggish, pompous self-righteous twenty-one year-old that I have ever met! And before you say anything, gentlemen, that was the description given him by my late wife, with which I am in complete accord!”

So much for a father's love, I thought wryly. 

“What was his task?” I asked. The man grinned.

“This most righteous of men has to commit an actual crime that will see him locked in a prison cell for at least four weeks”, he said. “But not so as he is still in gaol when the three months is up. So, any ideas, gentlemen?”

+~+~+

“I have to say”, Holmes said later, once our guest had gone, “that this is a most unusual case. Most of my work involves keeping people out of prison. I think this may be the first time that a client has requested me to ensure that their son gets _into_ one!”

“He needs to commit a crime”, I mused, “but not something so serious that it would result in his being incarcerated for a long period of time.”

“There is another variable to consider”, Holmes said. “The length of sentence will depend to some extend on who takes the trial, what the legal profession is prone to call the 'what the judge had for breakfast' factor. That, and the character of the judge, could mean the difference between a small fine and a lengthy spell at Her Majesty's Pleasure. I wonder....”

“What are you plotting?” I asked. 

“You will soon see!” he promised.

I pouted.

+~+~+

Sir George Lewis, who was currently visiting his paternal aunt up in Scotland, was due to attend us that Friday. By the time he arrived however, one his rivals had already achieved their goal. Young Arthur Hammerford had made the front page of the “Times” by the simple expedient of climbing up on the statue of the old Duke of Wellington at Hyde Park Corner, and planting a French flag in his grasp (I had to applaud his ingenuity; the will had not stated that the great figure had to be a _living_ one). The authorities were not pleased but, as he was apparently 'in his cups' at the time, he was let off with a fine.

The young baronet was worried.

“Cousin Arthur will get part of the estate now”, he said sourly. “I still have hopes that my great-aunt will not find employment anywhere; I cannot imagine anyone being that desperate, and I am certain that Danny cannot shut up for twenty-eight minutes, let alone twenty-eight days! Then again, I did not imagine Arthur being on the front page of the “Times”, damn him!”

“We must set about getting you in gaol”, Holmes said, and I was sure that that must have been the first time that I ever hear him utter those words. “Now, I have checked, and I see that the aptly named Judge Justice is on the bench for the next two weeks. He is renowned for passing the stiffest sentences possible.”

“That is a _good_ thing?” Sir George said, looking askance at my friend.

“Because it means that you can commit a relatively minor offence, and be sure of a month inside so that you can claim your inheritance”, Holmes said reasonably. “We cannot risk you spending too long in gaol, can we? I therefore suggest that you fling a custard pie in the face of Mr. Paul Rainham-Woods, when he leaves his house in the Strand. Monday next week would probably be best.”

“Why him?” Sir George asked curiously.

“Because his wife is Judge Justice's elder daughter Pandora, and His Honour will _not_ be pleased”, Holmes explained. “I have some back-up plans in case, especially as we have less than three months before you lose everything.”

“I do not think that I can do it”, the man muttered. I could see that he matched his father's description of him all too well. Holmes sighed. 

“Here”, he said, passing the man a card. “This is the address of one Beppo, who used to work for the Galliano Circus before he retired. As a former clown, he is expert at the pie in the face routine. And besides, despite the name it will not be real custard, but merely foam.”

“But what reason would I have for doing it?” the man asked.

I could think of a certain number of reasons, in sterling, but I kept quiet.

“Well, I suppose that you could let the whole estate go to your cousin Arthur”, Holmes said slyly.

The man almost snatched the card from him.

+~+~+

Come Monday, there was mixed news for our client. He felt a little more confident about the 'attack', and Holmes had arranged for a female actress to appear nearby if needed, the woman bearing a passing resemblance to Mrs. Rainham-Woods. The idea would be that our client would mistakenly think that the judge's son was seeing his current girlfriend behind his back, hence the attack.

The bad news was that against all expectations Mrs. Eleanor Crossley, Sir Julius' sister, had obtained paid employment.

“Only as a maid”, our client told us. “That was all she could get, and according to a maid of hers, she hates it. But she is determined to stick it out.”

“I have decided that the attack should be tomorrow, by the way”, Holmes told him. “My sources tell me that Mr. Rainham-Woods is always seen off at the door by his wife every morning. This particular morning, you happened to be out for a walk and saw them. Enraged, you determined to take action. Fortunately young Mr. Rainham-Woods is a barrister, and he is in court tomorrow, so the effect will be maximized.”

“Good!” our client said sourly. “I can almost taste my money!”

And I can almost see Holmes' bill, I thought sourly.

+~+~+

It was over a month later, and a very anxious Sir George Lewis was in the dock. Despite the attack and his subsequent capture, the past month had gone very ill for him. Against all expectations, his cousin had managed to keep his mouth shut and his great-aunt to keep her employment for the required twenty-eight days. Miracles, apparently, did happen when you least needed them.

Judge Robertson Justice frowned down upon the figure in the dock before him.

“And you have nothing to say in your defence, you scoundrel?” he demanded.

“No, sir”, our client said.

“Hmph!” the judge said. “Well, fortunately for you, I am in a lenient frame of mind today. Seven days inside. Take him down.”

Our client looked up in alarm.

“Seven days?” he shrieked.

Holmes waved a piece of paper in the air for some reason. I did not know why, but when I saw our client react, I guessed that it must be some sort of signal.

“Well, it was worth it!” our client said. “Pompous young ass. And that tart of his, masquerading as my Flo.....”

_“What did you say?”_

I was reminded of the ancient god Zeus thundering his displeasure around the heavens. The judge looked absolutely furious!

“She was a tart!” our client said robustly. “Anyone could see that. God alone knows what sort of family she comes from....”

“God may not, but I certainly do!” the judge roared. “Twenty-one days!”

“Is that it?” our client yawned. “She was still a tart.”

“Twenty-eight days!” the judge all but yelled. “Take him down, before I come over there myself!”

+~+~+

Before we left, Holmes pointed out the three rival candidates to our client's ambitions. The large if not formidable lady was Mrs. Eleanor Crossley, recently a maid for all her sins, the snooty looking dark-haired fellow (a pony-tail, really?) next to him was Mr. Daniel Rotherby, and the snide looking young man at the end was Mr. Arthur Hammerford.

“I find it a miracle that any hotel chose to employ her”, I said idly.

The silence that followed was far too marked. I stared suspiciously at my friend.

“Just how _did_ she find a place at a hotel?” I asked.

“Remember you had those two clients out in rural Middlesex last week?” he asked.

I did, though I did not see the relevance. I would normally never have travelled that far for a patient, but these had been cousins of the main sponsors of our practice, and so I had spent most of a wasted day treating what had basically been two sore throats. There may or may not have been some moderately expensive pastilles proscribed for the 'sufferers'.

“Yes”, I said. “What of it?”

“I went round to all three of them and offered my services”, he explained. “I said that since Sir George had approached me – or his father had – I felt that it only fair that they should be offered the chance to use my talents as well.”

“And you helped them all?” I asked dubiously. “Is that not going against our client's interests?”

“Oh, they all of them asked as to how they might stop the others from qualifying”, Holmes chuckled. “So predictable, some people. But in the light of Sir Julius' will, I decided that it was for the best that all of them got what was coming to them.”

He was a devious bastard!

+~+~+

It was some two months later, and we were attending the final reading of Sir Julius Hammerford's will. He had directed that it be done in public, much to the annoyance of the four beneficiaries, and there was a small crowd gathered for the occasion. I did not like to think how the beneficiaries would react if they had known that Holmes had been working for each and every one of them.

“I wonder why none of them thought to challenge the will?” I said, as Mr. Philip Lewis took his seat next to the family lawyer, a bespectacled elderly man called Mr. Golcombe. 

“Sir Julius inserted what they call a 'challenge clause'”, Holmes explained. “If any of the beneficiaries challenged and lost, then they would forfeit any entitlement. He was a far-sighted gentleman, was he not?”

“Not far-sighted enough to prevent at least one of his beneficiaries from seeking outside help”, I retorted.

He smiled knowingly.

“He may have been”, he said. “Another clause in the will stated that the beneficiaries would lose their entitlement if they had any moneys owing at the time the final will was read. And that included bills for using outside help.”

And the smug bastard promptly waved four cheques in my face. He had got four lots of pay out of one case! Fortunately Mr. Golcombe chose that moment to start the reading, so I settled for a mild scowl at him (it was not a pout, whatever anyone said). 

“As you may know”, the lawyer said, peering at us over the top of his round spectacles, “Sir Julius planned to divide his estate on his death. Part was to be placed in a trust find, and the income from it given to his wife if she survived him, which she did. Upon Lady Hammerford's death, the fund was to be divided equally between the Bishop of Hexham and the Northumberland Police Widows and Orphans Fund.'” 

There were some scowls from the assembled beneficiaries, but they were clearly intent on just how much each of them was going to get. The lawyer smiled.

“Sir Julius placed aside a set amount, however, for four of his relatives; his grandson Sir George Lewis, his grandson Mr. Daniel Rotherby, his sister Mrs. Eleanor Crossley, and his nephew Mr. Arthur Hammerford'.” He paused, and I began to get the distinct impression that he was milking the moment somewhat. “You all know that certain conditions that had to be met by each beneficiary, and I can confirm that each of the above named people did indeed qualify for their share of the residue of the estate.”

“How much do we get?” Mrs. Crossley demanded. Classy, I thought.

“Sir Julius left four envelopes, each with an equal amount in it”, the lawyer said. “He wished also that that amount be made public. In sum total, it is...... one farthing.” He paused again, quite unnecessarily in my opinion, before adding waspishly, “each.”

I know that it is a cliché, but you really could have heard a pin drop. There was nearly a minute of silence before Mr. Arthur Hammerford found his voice.

“This is impossible!” he yelled. “Where is all the damn money?”

The lawyer winced at his loud tone.

“I am afraid that Sir Julius arranged matters so that the bulk of his funds were in the trust for his widow, and to be passed on to charity before his death”, he said. “You will have, of course, to sign for your 'inheritances'.”

He was dangerously close to smug, I thought. But given the poor examples of humanity – who really had been played for fools, and were now arguing bitterly amongst themselves – I supposed that he was just about justified in his attitude. Although I myself would have refrained from such open gloating.

Holmes was looking at me again, and smiling knowingly. Damnation!

+~+~+

In our next case, the heat is on the Metropolitan Police Service to get results – and they employ rather unconventional methods to do just that!


End file.
